If
the Circle Sea is a crown, then Döss is its dark gem. Döss is a city consumed
by dark desires and its own love of death, or perhaps its own deathwish.

As the Free Cities go it is young, though you would not think this were you
staring at its dark cobblestones and ashen archways. The more favorable lands
for building cities were already used when the Necromancers came. To them were
left rocky crags split by hungry rivers and surrounded by dark swamps.

But
the Necromancers were patient and not easily cowed.
They built. Their workers never tired, for to tire requires life. They cared not
for danger, as they had no hearts or souls to feel the thrill of fear. They
worked night and day, bringing forth the dark alabaster that adorns so many of
the buildings of Döss.

And
finally, after nearly a year, the Ghost Council was ready to receive visitors
and do business. The lifeless servants were hidden away, and the only the most
ominous silk robes were worn.

One
does not travel to Döss to find silks, though silks dark as night adorn the
Ossuary where the Council meets, and black silk bandages wrap the bodies of the
respected dead in their mausoleums.

One
does not travel to Döss to buy gold or gems, though the Necromancers are said
to be rich beyond measure.

One
travels to Döss only when one must deal in death.

Elixirs
are known in Döss, it is said, that can prolong a man's life.
Potent charms can be had in Döss that will fortify the heart and provide life
even though the body is rent and torn.
There is a well full of black water that whispers the secrets of a man's life,
if one is willing to take a sip of the dark liquid.

A
sword to steal a man's life? It can be had.
A powder than can bring an endless death-dream to those that breath it? Sold
regularly in the silent markets.
Immortality? The Ghost Council is living proof of the availability of this
commodity.
A talisman to bind the soul of a treacherous lover? Easily found if your purse
is deep.

The
first Necromancers were outcasts from the Pentatra. They fled when the ruined
Temples had not recovered from the Beneath's Rising. The holy facade that their
brethren adopted could not hide the dark obsession that burned like a fever
behind their eyes.

Later they were joined by exiled ćlven
mages, masters of similar dark arts left
homeless by the civil war within the Ćlven Empire of Xauphinelle. With them
they brought stolen artifacts and scrolls the Empire thought destroyed long ago.

From a small cluster of dark vaulted roofs, Döss grew. Only the truly desperate
and fallen sought out the rocky shores and the depthless marshes. But they came,
and perhaps even the Ghost Council was surprised with the city's growth.

Döss
is a place where the doomed come to rest. Where the flagellated soul can find
service with those even more despised than they.

In the early days, the Free Cities saw Döss as a tool to use against their
rivals. Peddlers of curses and dire magics, fell arms and dark enchantments.
Then the aging rulers of some of the Cities sought them out as their health
began to fail them. Everyone knows how the Despot of Choldai has lived so
impossibly long, yet only a scant handful know the price he must pay for each
year of life.

Though the Ćlven Empire frowns upon death magic, it is said they have forged
bonds with Döss, perhaps even reinstating the ćlven
liches as
citizens-in-exile. The Pentatra, now finally recovered to some measure of its
old strength, fears to move against the City of Abominations, lest the Empire
bring its wrath against them.

Of course, Döss is not without teeth of its own. Undead soldiers are only six
feet away, though the silent steps of the Shy Muses dissuade many would-be
attackers. More than one dead Pentatric priest has been blamed on the Muses and
their undying masters. Against hostile magic, Döss is warded and sealed. Even
the mighty Pentatra has not yet pierced their mystic defenses.

Maggots crawl in the City of Corpses. Dark gondolas slide along the stone
canals. There is a taint of evil to the city, it is true, but beneath it all,
the Ghost Council are essentially merchants of death.

The dark attire, the fearful populace, the grim delights of the midnight
bazaars, the unseen assassins; these all serve to enhance the mystique of the
reclusive Necromancers, scare the Holy Pentatra, and create business for the
city. The rulers of Döss revel in their gaudy evil, knowing full well that they
are merely businessmen with no morals who provide tools to those without the
means to manifest their own petty spite and vanity.

The
true Evil, whisper the Ghost Council, flaps on slow wings above the palaces of
the Vezanti.

Yet some folk wonder. Why go through such hardship, risk the fires of the
Pentatra, and build a city from nothing? Can it truly be for love of money? To
one who has mastered death, what allure can coinage hold?

And yet, if they do not love money simply for money's sake... what do the
Necromancers of Döss seek to fund? To what endeavors do agelss lords of unlife
turn their coin? Are there yet further heresies that demand their research? Are
there things in the partially flooded catacombs that the Ghost Council keeps
hidden? What of the archaeological expeditions that are seen leaving Vesh, and
are rumored to be secretly funded by the Necromancers of Döss?

Some
folk wonder, and hope the truth is not so foreboding as their dire speculations.